IJMC - Remember One Another

At times, it is hard to remember that everyone is special. In traffic 
today I became annoyed at someone who pulled in front of me without 
signalling. But, it was just one person, someone who felt they were in a 
hurry and needed to be somewhere. It is too easy to forget the other 
people at times. Tonight's IJMC is a good one, urban legend or real. The 
meaning is still there. I am glad to be the one to pass this along to 
each and every one of you. Please spread it further.               -dave




     He was in the first third grade class I taught at Saint
Mary's School in Morris, Minn.  All 34 of my students were
dear to me, but Mark Eklund was one in a million.  Very neat
in appearance, but had that happy-to-be-alive attitude that 
made even his occasional mischievousness delightful.

     Mark talked incessantly.  I had to remind him again and
again that talking without permission was not acceptable.
What impressed me so much, though, was his sincere response
every time I had to correct him for misbehaving - "Thank
you for correcting me, Sister!" I didn't know what to make
of it at first, but before long I became accumstomed to
hearing it many times a day.

     One morning my patience was growing thin when Mark
talked once too often, and then I made a novice-teacher's
mistake.  I looked at Mark and said, "If you say one more
word, I am going to tape your mouth shut!"

      It wasn't ten seconds later when Chuck blurted out,
"Mark is talking again."  I hadn't asked any of the
students to help me watch Mark, but since I had stated the
punishment in front of the class, I had to act on it.

      I remember the scene as if it had occurred this
morning. I walked to my desk, very deliberately opened my
drawer and took out a roll of masking tape.  Without saying
a word, I proceeded to Mark's desk, tore off two pieces of
tape and made a big X with them over his mouth.  I then
returned to the front of the room.

     As I glanced at Mark to see how he was doing, he
winked at me. That did it!!  I started laughing.  The class
cheered as I walked back to Mark's desk, removed the tape,
and shrugged my shoulders.  His first words were, "Thank
you for correcting me, Sister."

     At the end of the year I was asked to teach
junior-high math.  The years flew by, and before I knew it
Mark was in my classroom again.  He was more handsome than
ever and just as polite..  Since he had to listen carefully
to my instructions in the "new math," he did not talk as
much in ninth grade as he had in third.

     One Friday, things just didn't feel right.  We had
worked hard on a new concept all week, and I sensed that
the students were frowning, frustrated with themselves -
and edgy with one another. I had to stop this crankiness
before it got out of hand.  So I asked them to list the
names of the other students in the room on two sheets of
paper, leaving a space between each name.  Then I told them
to think of the nicest thing they could say about each of
their classmates and write it down.

     It took the remainder of the class period to finish
the assignment, and as the students left the room, each one
handed me the papers. Charlie smiled.  Mark said, "Thank
you for teaching me, Sister.  Have a good weekend."

     That Saturday, I wrote down the name of each student
on a separate sheet of paper, and I listed what everyone
else had said about that individual.  On Monday I gave each
student his or her list.  Before long, the entire class was
smiling.  "Really?"  I heard whispered.  "I never knew that
meant anything to anyone!" "I didn't know others liked me
so much!"

     No one ever mentioned those papers in class again.
I never knew if they discussed them after class or with
their parents, but it didn't matter.  The exercise had
accomplished its purpose.  The students were happy with
themselves and one another again.

     That group of students moved on.  Several years later,
after I returned from vacation, my parents met me at the
airport. As we were driving home, Mother asked me the usual
questions about the trip - the weather, my experiences in
general.  There was a light lull in the conversation.
Mother gave Dad a side-ways glance and simply says,
"Dad?"  My father cleared his  throat as he usually did
before something important.  "The Eklunds called last
night," he began.

     "Really?" I said.  "I haven't heard from them in
years.  I wonder how Mark is."

     Dad responded quietly.  "Mark was killed in Vietnam,"
he said. "The funeral is tomorrow, and his parents would
like if it you could attend."  To this day I can still
point to the exact spot on I-494 where Dad told me about
Mark.

     I had never seen a serviceman in a military coffin
before.  Mark looked so handsome, so mature.  All I could
think at that moment was, Mark, I would give all the
masking tape in the world if only you would talk to me.

     The church was packed with Mark's friends.  Chuck's
sister sang "The Battle Hymn of the Republic."  Why did it
have to rain on the day of the funeral?  It was difficult
enough at the graveside. The pastor said the usual prayers,
and the bugler played taps.  One by one those who loved
Mark took a last walk by the coffin and sprinkled it with
holy water.

     I was the last one to bless the coffin.  As I stood
there, one of the soldiers who had acted as pallbearer came
up to me. "Were you Mark's math teacher?" he asked.  I
nodded as I continue to stare at the coffin.  "Mark talked
about you a lot," he said.

     After the funeral, most of Mark's former classmates
headed to Chuck's farmhouse for lunch.  Mark's mother and
father were there, obviously waiting for me.  "We want to
show you something," his father said, taking a wallet out
of his pocket.  "They found this on Mark when he was
killed.  We thought you might recognize it."

     Opening the billfold, he carefully removed two worn
pieces of notebook paper that had obviously been taped,
folded and refolded many times.  I knew without looking
that the papers were the ones on which I had listed all the
good things each of Mark's classmates had said about him.
"Thank you so much for doing that, " Mark's mother said.
"As you can see, Mark treasured it."

     Mark's classmates started to gather around us. Charlie
smiled rather sheepishly and said, "I still have my list.
It's in the top drawer of my desk at home."  Chuck's wife
said, "Chuck asked me to put this in our wedding album."
"I have mine too," Marilyn said.  "It's in my diary."  Then
Vicki, another classmate, reached into her pocketbook, took
out her wallet and showed her worn and frazzled list to the
group.  "I carry this with me at all times," Vicki said
without batting an eyelash.  "I think we all saved our
lists."

     That's when I finally sat down and cried.  I cried for
Mark and for all his friends who would never see him again.

		THE END

written by: Sister Helen P. Mrosla



     The purpose of this letter, is to encourage everyone
to compliment the people you love and care about.  We often
tend to forget the importance of showing our affections and
love.  Sometimes the smallest of things, could mean the
most to another.  I am asking you, to please send this
letter around and spread the message and encouragement,
to express your love and caring by complimenting and being
open with communication.  The density of people in society,
is so thick, that we forget that life will end one day.
And we don't know when that one day will be.  So please, I
beg of you, to tell the people you love and care for, that
they are special and important.  Tell them, before it is
too late.

     I leave these messages with you and ask you to
continue to spread the message to everyone you know.